


Mandalorian Sandwich

by magichandthing



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boba Fett is kind of a cocky douche but we love him anyways, Crying, Double Penetration, F/M, Multi, No use of y/n, Praise Kink, Reader is early-mid 20’s and Boba is like 40ish and Mando is in his 30’s or whatever, Shameless Smut, Soft!Mando, Spanking, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Yall I’m disgusting sorry, sorry mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23127184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magichandthing/pseuds/magichandthing
Summary: Bro I don't even know. I'm horny for Boba Fett on the highkey and I just wanted to have Reader get rawdogged and double teamed by my two favorite Mandalorians. This is literal shameless smut, it was literally over 7k words so I split it up.I'm a crybaby irl so I made Reader a crybaby, sorry! I also LOVE punishment spankings that turn into humping.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader, Boba Fett/Reader/The Mandalorian, Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 46
Kudos: 847





	1. Chapter 1

Oh.

Oh, _no._

You just _knew_ the amount of bantha shit you would be in the _nanosecond_ the jetpack slipped from your hands and went soaring over the sandy dunes of the Tatooine desert. You tried, _really_ tried, to get it back, hands scrambling along the sleek metal, the flare of fire torching the soft skin of your palms. And despite it still, you ran after it, legs pumping uselessly against the slick sand, shouting curses at it like the spit of your venomous words and your sick desperation would actually stop it in its tracks.

Of course, it didn’t work.

It landed… _somewhere_ with a resounding, final boom, the plume of smoke evidence of its total annihilation, marking its terminal destination and marking the _exact_ location you knew Fett would _bury_ you once he found out you had let his precious jetpack get irreparably destroyed. A deep, foreboding chill slunk down your spine in a sickly crawl, feet rooted where it was in the sand. Despite the hot wind that whipped sand and heat against you, you felt nothing but the iciness of impending doom.

Fett was, by no means, an abusive man. For all your shortcomings, he had taken a chance with you, never striking you, never snapping even through your multitude of mistakes, your sharp wit and sassy mouth. He was his own brand of gentle, gruff baritone never rising in volume, never steeling in tone, killing hands never _too_ rough when handling you, when nudging you this way and that, when correcting you. And despite the absolute fear he struck in everyone- including you- you had felt as if he were _patient_ with you.

But this time, you knew had completely and utterly _ruined_ it. It was already surprising he even decided to take in a scraggly, homeless youngster with no brain-to-mouth filter, and here you were, not several months in, _already_ wreaking havoc on the bounty hunter’s life; you knew to expect a swift eviction, if not a painful death as an outcome of this incredible blunder.

He had already been irritated at the destruction of his _Slave I_ at the hands of the Jawa, and now _this._ All you had to do was _hold_ the damn thing for a few hours and stand still. Just until the kriffing _suns set._ You were _so_ close.

Within minutes, and as if experiencing secondhand dread, the twin suns of Tatooine slipped beyond the horizon, tucking you away in the dark of night and your doomed fate. You stood stock-still, eyes never leaving the column of ash even as it began to wane with the lack of fuel. Your heart was near still in your throat, blood rushing helplessly through your ears, and you seriously considered just _running._

It’s not like you didn’t know these deserts better than the bounty hunter ever could, knew how to weasel yourself underground, to disappear completely-

You turned away, and took _one_ step before you felt a hand grab you by the scruff of your tunic, spinning you around forcibly. A high noise left you, full of fear, and you flinched, eyes squeezing shut. You _knew_ who it’d be. Fett was always a man of his word and the suns _had_ set.

 _“Where are_ you _going?”_ He rumbled, _livid_ though the volume of his voice never rose beyond its usual gruff whisper _,_ the deep “T” of his visor trained directly on you. _“And empty-handed?”_

Another pathetic noise left you at that, small frame finally shattering into a thousand trembles, tears filling your shut eyes. You weren’t, by any means, a crybaby. You’ve lived a life much too rough, much too violent to let anything like a casual threat force you to waterworks; but the timbre of his modulated voice, the _disappointment_ you could _feel_ , coupled with the absolute fear of mortal danger seemed to be enough to get you there.

You chanced a look at him, though you knew you’d find no solace in reading a face which was not available to you to see. A soft, stuttering exhale escaped you, wit lost on you entirely, lip trembling as hard as your entire body was.

“I’m sorry-“ is all you could manage, before you noticed another figure come up from beyond the curves of the dunes, holding the mutilated proof of your clumsiness in his similarly gloved hands.

Only for a moment did you feel curiosity, eyes widening as they washed over another endless abyss set in a silver helmet, before Fett roughly yanked your attentions back onto him.

 _“I asked you a question,_ kid.”

Obediently, your eyes fell to where you thought his eyes might be, though you quickly shied away, jaw quaking as you furiously fought back the tears from collecting just _too_ _much,_ trying desperately to never allow a single drop to drip down your cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” you could only say again, voice nothing but a cracked whisper. “I- I really didn’t mean it- I-- it- It just ignited and-”

Time passed so, _so_ slowly, and in your periphery, you could see the unknown man approach, quieter than the one you knew in front of you. It was almost like he wasn’t there _at all,_ and you wondered how a man covered in so much armor, so many supplies, could move without even a whisper of a sound. But, despite his fearsome appearance, you noted his languid gait, noted the way he cradled the broken metal with so much _care,_ and felt something softer about the man.

It took so much willpower not to look, not to stare, eyes- hopefully- boring into Fett’s own.

He released you then, but only to examine the carnage of his precious jetpack, and you crumbled to the ground in a somewhat relieved heap. Feeling the sand get everywhere was never something you thought you would appreciate, its grittiness nothing but a burden in the past, but you silently thanked the universe for allowing you to _live_ to feel it. You dared not to move any further, though, or your short-lived relief would soon be replaced with a blaster ray to your back.

Head bowed, you cautioned a look to Fett’s companion without tilting your head too noticeably. The bounty hunter’s back was towards you, turning his jetpack this way and that, just obscuring half of your view of the Silver Man. But what you could see of him: his armor was silver _everywhere,_ not just his helmet, not green or colored like Fett’s. He was only slightly shorter than the man who brought you in, though a little stockier. He didn’t speak, not unlike Fett, and his tattered cape brushed against his calves.

And he hadn’t tilted his helmet away from you since you first locked eyes with his helmet.

Another chill dropped your stomach, skin erupting in a wave of goosebumps from tip to tail. Your eyes immediately dropped when you realized he was looking, and you were thankful you did, because a very _angry_ bounty hunter was storming his was to you, spurs on his boots rattling like a snake ready to strike. The air in your lungs went stale, trembling beginning anew.

 _“I should just leave you here.”_ Fett spat, voice a tone you’ve _never_ heard. Tears _really_ threatened your eyes now, and you bowed your head again, a soft _hiccup_ stuttering from your chest. _“Oh no,_ you _don’t get to act like you’re sad, you brat.”_

Gods, you’ve never heard him so angry, so venomous with you- he was not like this even to his more _combative bounties._ It hurt you, heart splitting unevenly in two at his absolute disgust with you, and you tried to wipe away your tears, to hold it in, to _not_ allow yourself this overwhelming sensation of emotion. It was impossible to look even in his general direction, eyes settling on the sand dune beyond his left calf, nose and eyes splotchy and red from the exertion.

A hand gently settled on Fett’s shoulder, heavy despite the delicate grace of his motion. The bounty hunter’s helmet didn’t turn from your face, but you supposed the Silver Man knew he had Fett’s attention.

 _“She apologized.”_ He said, simply. Your advocate’s voice was rough too, you supposed a product of the voice modulator or a hard life, though you felt the rounded shape of his words compare to Fett’s sharp ones, felt the _soft_ of his tone. _“She didn’t mean it. You and I both know it is hard to control these.”_

 _Stars,_ you burst into tears at that, not used to Fett’s anger but unused to this sort of kindness after a colossal mistake nonetheless. Warm, gloved hands wrapped around your upper arms, gently guiding you to your feet, nudging you towards Fett, and you realized that it was the _Silver Man’s_ hands who had raised you, who had calmed your enraged companion.

Time, as slow as it was crawling _already,_ near stilled as you stood in front of the bounty hunter, face a mess of tears, of flushed red cheeks and ears, of a pathetically trembling lip.

A sigh escaped from Fett’s helmet, and he plopped a huge, heavy hand on your shoulder, and despite the _shock_ that ran through your system, you immediately felt calmer, sensing his rage quieting into an annoyed simmer. And annoyed simmer, you knew how to handle. You couldn’t help but lean into his hand a little, _craving_ affection from him, wanting reassurance that he wasn’t going to just throw you away, back to a life of turmoil and violence and _loneliness._

 _“Fine.”_ He drawled, and stars, you just loved the way the words left decorated from his mouth by his accent, just loved how that one word could put you in so much ease. _“But you’re paying for the repairs, girl.”_

“Okay,” You whispered, absolutely thrilled because kriffing hell, _anything_ was better than being abandoned. The hand on your shoulder _squeezed,_ and that shot a quick jolt of fright through you, righting yourself and staring with wide eyes.

 _“That doesn’t mean you won’t be punished, too, though.”_ Fett stated, tone brooking no argument. Your blood ran cold. The Silver Man shifted on his feet, almost _anxious,_ unsure of what that threat could possibly mean, one hand imperceptibly sliding to the blaster strapped to his hip. And honestly, even with the time you spent with Fett, sometimes you weren’t sure either just how far you could fuck up before Fett’s notorious ruthlessness finally deemed you too much of a burden, but too knowledgeable of _him_ , and ended you.

As if sensing the mood, Fett dropped his hand, chucking you gently under your chin. _“I’m not gonna kill you. But you need to be taught a lesson. I think I’ve been too nice, too long to a clumsy, little girl like you.”_

And you couldn’t help but nod earnestly, his admission that he wasn’t leaving _or_ killing you shattering you, soft sobs bubbling from you in relief. Honestly, at this point in time, you truly wouldn’t know what would be _worse._ Your tears earned you another sigh, vocoder in his helmet buzzing like a thousand irritated bees, though he briskly rubbed your arms in his odd way of comfort. Fett turned to face his other companion, who had been standing there almost awkwardly, tipping the chin of his helmet in the direction of their destination.

Fett’s helmet tilted back towards you, briefly, as he began to walk, hand curling in a “come here” motion. _“Don’t keep us waiting. Come on, and stop crying.”_

You needed no other prompting, following behind the two men who didn’t seem fazed at all by the give of the sand, wiping at your tears. As you began your trek, you realized you had already felt run down- how were they not more tired than you, with all that armor and equipment hanging off their frames? All you did was _stand there_ all day, and you were kriffing exhausted.

It was impossible they were human, you decided. All this walking on _sand_ , and not a single complaint, not a single sound to indicate they were even _remotely_ out of breath, while you were trying _so_ hard to conceal the sounds of your wheezes.

You learned, in your short journey, that the Silver Man was a Mandalorian. It was a thing of tall tales, told by fathers to their awe-struck sons, yet here stood before you a man of legend, silent and strong and _kind._ You felt even more breathless as the two men shared more information, but not _enough_ to really harm one another, feeling almost as if you were intruding on a private conversation, still much too timid to speak up in your normal fashion.

Thankfully soon, a ship appeared along the horizon and your bounty hunter’s companion sped up to activate the hatch, dropping the ramp down and walking in. Invitation implied, you follow both the men, desperately trying to ignore the startle of the ramp shutting behind you, anxiety gnawing at your guts at the impending punishment and at the state of the vessel you were in. The inside of the ship, at least was alright, decorated with the bare minimum, though you had no time- or _place honestly_ \- to criticize the Mandalorian’s lack of interior design skills. 

Fett was on you, the Mandalorian having vanished into the cockpit, and anxiety crashed into you once more as your breath caught high in your throat, escaping through your nose in a soft whimper. Oh, right, _the punishment._ The bounty hunter gently brushed your chin, helmet tilting down to face you directly, and your knees went as soft as you felt.

 _“You should be so lucky he decided to give you privacy. I’d say you deserve none.”_ He muttered, withdrawing from you to sit on a cargo box, legs flexed and firmly on the floor. What was he planning that required _privacy_? Fett had never really punished you, at least not beyond a quick bop to the back of your head when you did or said something particularly stupid. The man never rose his damn voice at you, for kriff’s sake, instead opting to just drag you out of whatever situation you had put yourself into by the scruff, like a disobedient puppy being locked away in a crate.

 _“Come here.”_ He said, breaking your train of thought, patting his unarmored knee.

Your brain lagged. Your eyes never left his lap, mentally rerouting all the implications that gesture had meant, from innocent cuddling (wrong, it’s a _punishment)_ to downright _filthy._ Wait, when did he remove his kneepads? How long had you been staring? Why did he pat his lap that way-

_Oh._

Your face erupted into a brilliant shade of red, red enough to rival the Tatooine sunset, as the gears finally clicked in your slow, slow, little mind. And as if he knew you finally caught on, he patted once more, a bit harder than before as if to communicate his growing irritation.

 _“There you go. Now that you’re_ finally _caught up; get over here.”_ He punctuated, _“Before I_ really _lose my patience.”_

You blustered. “But- wait- I’m a _grown woman._ Not some kid-“

 _“I don’t care. You handled my equipment carelessly and then_ destroyed _it,”_ He growled, reminder not-so-pleasantly igniting a visceral feeling of _guilt_ within you, and you cursed your attitude for rearing its ugly head _now_. _“Grown woman or not, you act like a kid, you get treated like one._

_“Now, last time. Get over here.”_

You obeyed, though reluctantly. Your strides were short, breath coming in quick, nervous puffs, glancing towards the ladder to ensure privacy before draping yourself over his lap, ashamed from both the humiliation and the utter guilt you felt at your irresponsibility. It was surprisingly comfortable, Fett having removed his kneepads for additional support for _you,_ his muscled thighs providing a solid, wide base for your slim torso to rest on. And you knew you were much smaller than him, but your toes barely brushed the ground, fists helplessly rooting themselves into his pant leg, tilted way too _forward_ if you braced yourself on the floor.

Gods, you felt _humiliated._

You turned your head, shooting Fett an apprehensive look, worrying your lip between your teeth. With the hand closest to you, he tenderly brushed his thumb across your captured lip, coaxing you to stop biting so kriffing hard on it.

 _“You’re gonna bite your damn lip off. Stop that.”_ He admonished, running his other hand down the length of your spine, settling just above your ass, in a groove where your tunic failed to do it’s one, damn job and _cover_ you. You opened your mouth, a soft gasp escaping you at the feel of his gloved hand on your bare skin, but as soon as you felt any sort of pleasure, you quickly felt a surge of pain spark from the flesh of your ass. The sound echoed in the cargo hold, embarrassingly announcing your utter indignity.

Kriff, he didn’t even _warn_ you. Your head immediately dropped, hands fisting tighter into his tactical pants in a pathetic attempt of grounding yourself; it was too early to _cry,_ goddamnit. Growing up in the street slums of Tatooine, you weren’t a stranger to physical violence, nor to pain, but _this_ …

Perhaps you had grown soft in the months you had spent with Fett, grown soft in his lack of discipline, grown soft in the lack of feeling the need to _survive._ In _safety._

Each strike lurched you forward, centimeter by centimeter, and gods, you were _covered_ still. But every smack sparked an ember along the increasingly sensitive skin of your ass, the heavy weight of his hand ripping you from your focus on the floor, stealing away your breath and your attention from any distractions- it demanded you to focus on _it_ , focus on the searing heat his hand brought upon you. Your breaths came in wispy, useless puffs, though you were proud of the way you refused to _squirm._

Fett’s free hand steadied you, resting in the dip your spine, firm, flat, and _grounding_ as the depth of his strokes deepened, each strike landing swifter, more stinging than before.

It had to be over-

_Another stroke-_

-over soon, _right_?

Gods, nearly a millennium later, he paused, hand stroking the soft curve of your bottom, granting you moments of relief before he drew your trousers and undergarments down, baring you to him.

Oh, _kriff._ Instinctively, your hand shot down to try and cover yourself, tipping forwardly precariously with the loss of balance, though you were more interested in the idea of preserving your _dignity_ than preserving the integrity of your facial structure. A quick hand shot out, pinning your fragile wrist to your back, simultaneously keeping you from crashing face-first into the flooring, and all you heard was a breathy, no-nonsense _uh-uh_ before the bounty hunter resumed.

Only this time it was _worse._ Gods, the leather of his gloves were going to be the absolute death of you.

You broke first, squirming, trying to escape the relentless assault on your tender skin. Not like you really were going to go anywhere, pinned the way you were, and with every stroke, he forced a soft, but audible cry from you as the pain peaked. He was as thorough with the punishment as he was with his bounties, taking care to reach even the tender sit-spots where your thighs met ass, handpainting them in a shade of red so stark against your natural skin color.

Fett paused again, when you hiccupped, when tears broke the confines of your eyes, streaming down your face in fat droplets. The hand restraining your arm released you, smoothing down the irritated (certainly _bruised)_ skin of your left cheek, thumb stroking with a tenderness you weren’t used to from the bounty hunter.

“ _Please,_ Boba, I’m _sorry,_ ” You begged, voice as broken as you felt, face burrowed deep into his thigh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I-I’m _so sorry_ -“

 _“You’re doing well, girl.”_ He murmured, and oddly, his praise sparked a warmth in you you were almost _afraid_ of, though you preened in. _“Just a lil’ more. You can do it.”_

You weren’t sure if you could keep going, but _gods_ you wanted to keep making him _proud_ of you, wanted him to tell you that you were _good_ forever, even if it meant taking this pain forever. Fett waited until he saw the little bob of your head, waited until you cleared him to continue, the two of you _far beyond_ punishments at this point. Leaning forward, he nudged the cold curve of his helmet against your sweat-slick temple, a mock-gesture of a kiss that still sent goosebumps down your arms, a moan spilling from your lips.

 _“Good girl.”_ He whispered, reverently, and you _basked_ in the praise this time, unafraid and willing, even despite the tears dripping from your chin.

Resuming after that long of a break, you realized dimly, was _difficult._ Your skin, in a valiant attempt at healing from the pain, was _alive_ , nerve-endings bright, awake, and _burning,_ skin thrumming with sensitivity. Each strike forced a sharp cry from you now, sobbing desperately as you clutched his pant leg tight, but you felt a rush of something _pleasurable_ amongst the pain, and you found yourself _begging_ again.

All it took was one more _please,_ and Fett finally stopped, free hands rushing to remove his helmet so he could lean forward and press his face- slippery-slick with sweat just like yours- against your shoulder blade, pressing gentle kisses there as he traced his fingers along the bruised curve of your ass.

“Such a good girl, such a _good_ girl for me.” He whispered, littering praise in between soft kisses, and his raw, unfiltered voice made you _cry,_ only having seen the man without his helmet a scarce few times. The lilt of his accent and the scratch of his voice caught flame along your already burnt nerves, and you moaned for him, moaned at his praise, trembling face-down in his lap.

And when his fingers traced, just barely, against the lips of your pussy, you heard a static of someone _clearing their throat_ through a modulator.

 _“You know, I offered you a service to the next planet over, not a hotel room service.”_ The Mandalorian started, tone unreadable. _“This is some punishment.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please use protection

_“You know, I offered you a service to the next planet over, not a hotel room service.” The Mandalorian started, tone unreadable. “This is some punishment.”_

* * *

Oh, _gods. You had forgotten._ You blanched, the heat leaving you in one, fell swoop, and you squirmed helplessly, because _your ass was naked and facing right at this man._ You knew him for a grand total of _maybe_ three hours, and here you were, a guest on his ship, about to get your guts rearranged after a _spanking_ from someone else who was _also_ a complete stranger to him.

The hand at your back stilled you, and you gasped, looking up to see a lazy smirk crawl along your bounty hunter’s face. “Boba, _what are you doing-?”_

“And we thank you for the lift.” Boba drawled, and his finger was back, toying at the soft folds of your pussy like some random man _wasn’t_ just watching. Your breath hitched, thighs quivering as his finger swept down, down, _down_ to your clit, touch ghosting over it. “How ever can we thank you?”

A high, tight sound escaped you, face flushing again at the implication, and gods, you wanted to _please_ him, please them both, please _your_ bounty hunter and your advocate earlier. Fett’s finger withdrew, sliding up the round softness of your ass, past the little divet of your spine, trailing up, up, up until you felt his fingers curve around your jaw, turning you to face him, gently, pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

“I think my good girl over here knows how, if you’d like, Mando.”

Your stomach flipped, and you so desperately wished you could see the Mandalorian, see how he was standing, to see if _he wanted it too._ All you got in return was silence. You forgot how much quieter and more withdrawn this man could be, compared to Boba, who had been spilling praise all night, whose warm, brown eyes you were currently still staring into, memorizing each jagged scar along his rugged face.

 _“I-“_ He started, and you watched as Boba turned, slowly, to face him; you briefly could see the phantom outline of his helmet, and you wondered if he _always_ had this look when turning that slow- one of arrogance, of pride, of _knowing._

_“If the girl is okay with it. I’d- I’d like it.”_

The Mandalorian was surprisingly… timid. But of course, you wasted no time in nodding, and you squeaked when you felt hands brush near _lovingly_ down the sides of your thighs, taking care to avoid the smattering of angry-red bruises on your ass. The Mandalorian’s touch was so different from Fett’s- and though Fett was gentle still, he touched you in a way that claimed you as _his_ , while this man stroked you almost hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if this was _okay._

The dual sensations forced a soft gasp from you, thighs spreading just a smidge, earning you a dual moan from the men above you as your heat opened to them. Gods, you were _dripping,_ thighs smeared with your own wet, the cream of Boba’s tactical pants deepening as you soaked into him. Kriff it all, you thought, relishing in the flames of arousal, uncaring how _exposed_ you were. Fett’s hand was back, pressing firmly now as he slid his gloved hand along your lips, swiping your clit in a lazy, heavy circle.

You jolted, moaning, and you heard the Mandalorian sigh in turn.

“ _Please,”_ You begged, squirming across Fett’s lap for an entirely different reason than you were just ten minutes ago, swallowing thickly. “Gods, please- _Boba, Mando-“_

You were suddenly righted, gently sat back on Boba’s lap, facing him. Fett brushed your hair back, chucking your chin with a smirk, leaning in for a quick peck, just the barest hint of his stubble brushing against your chin.

“My good girl.” He praised, and you keened, the mere words lighting a fire in you that burned brighter than being sandwiched between the two most dangerous, handsome men in the kriffing parsec. A rustle of fabric echoed hushed in the cargo hold, followed by the sound of metal resting on the floor. You chanced a glance down, tongue darting out to moisten your lips as you watched Boba release his thick, long cock, stealing away a soft moan from you. Both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, it was smooth, unscarred, uncut, skin a deep tan, flushed near the tip, and it looked so _soft_ despite its hardness, watching as he fisted himself languidly.

How in kriff’s name were you going to fit _that_ in you?

As if jealous, the Mandalorian reached forward, capturing your chin in between his thumb and index finger, gently turning you to face his helmet. Goosebumps littered your skin at the tender touch, and your wide eyes fell upon the dark “T” of his visor.

 _“Can I take off your tunic?”_ He asked, voice so genuine and soft and _full_ of _want._ Such a stark contrast to how demanding Fett could be, a man ruthless and confident and used to getting _his way_. A smile broke your lips, and you cupped the cheek of his helmet, nodding as you twisted your torso to help him remove the cloth from you.

The chill struck you suddenly, nipples pebbling, the gentle arch of your tits trembling with the sharp inhale you took as his hands tenderly removed your tunic. In a flash, Fett has his mouth on you, lips sealing around your tit, neglected one resting heavy in his warm palms. It had been _so long_ since anyone had touched you this way, since you’ve _enjoyed_ it, and you gasped and moaned and tugged at Fett’s unruly curls, head thrown back into Mando’s chest as the bounty hunter mercilessly pulled each desperate noise from you with his _kriffing mouth._

Fett’s hands slid up your back to pull you _closer_ , the Mandalorian’s hand quickly replacing the bounty hunter’s on your tit, rolling it gently like he was _testing_ it. Gods, the difference in the way they touched you drove you to madness, mind bouncing helplessly from rough to soft to confident to tender _._

_“So…_ soft.” The Mandalorian whispered, hands pulling away briefly to remove his gloves, and free himself as well, pressing the hard length of his dick against the curve of your back. He treated your body like a place of worship, hands skimming down the soft valleys of your tits, your rounded midsection, and down further to your clit, and once he found the sensitive nub, you nearly _screamed_ , heart hammering.

Your hips rocked, sliding against Fett’s cock on the upstroke, pushing back against the Mandalorian’s on the downstroke, and the sparks of pain from your ass brushing against cock and beskar only served to fuel your arousal to the point of no return.

Fuck, you were nearly there, so close you were nearly vibrating with the _need_ to come, whining high in your throat as you bared yourself for them both, head against Mando’s chest, hands fisted in Boba’s shoulders.

 _“Come for me,”_ He murmured, and though his tone was polite, it was still _commanding_. The Mandalorian dipped lower, sliding one thick digit inside you, then two, and you were coming undone, coming all over his hand like _he wanted,_ shaking with the need to breathe, with the overwhelming _pleasure._

 _“Good girl, good girl.”_ He soothed, withdrawing to continue to praise your body with his hands, and gods, you wished you could feel his mouth on you, too. And almost like he read your mind, Boba leaned forward and bit down on the curve of your neck, hard enough to shock but not enough to _hurt,_ and you squealed, jumping from the sensation.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Fett mumbled, obviously jealous now that the Mandalorian had stolen your first orgasm from him, lips retreating from your neck as he pulled off his gloves, too.

You laughed, soft and high and you saw Fett melt just a touch, felt Mando grip you just a little tighter, leaning forward to plant a tender kiss on the bounty hunter’s lips. The kiss stoked the flame in both of you, and gods, Boba wished he had done this earlier, opened up to you earlier, _taken_ you earlier, and he drew you nearer as he gently nipped your lower lip, tongue swiping against yours. His hands, calloused, large, _warm,_ gripped your hips and angled them, holding you just above his cock.

“You tell me if it hurts,” He drawled, mouth still ghosting yours, and you breathed out a soft laugh at his dual concern and own stroke of his ego. Mando’s hands stilled on your tits, watching with rapt attention, his own breath coming in harsh static from his vocoder. Time slowed around the three of you, and Boba gave you one more, tender kiss as he slowly lowered you onto his cock, groaning as your body gave way for _him._

It stung a little, you wouldn’t lie. Fett’s cock was by far, the biggest you’ve ever taken, and each inch that slid in you stretched you that much further, opened you and molded you to _him_. A ragged gasp tore itself from you, arms wrapping around Boba’s neck as you leaned forward, torso pressed entirely against him.

“Kriff,” You cursed, gasping and clawing at the metal back plate of his armor. “Kriff, _Boba,_ I’m gonna _break-“_

Fett’s brow was knitted now, his cheek pressed to the side of your head as he slowly seated you fully on his dick, and _oh,_ for as tiny as you were, for as _tight_ as you were, you were the first to take him fully this way and he pulled back only to see where you two were _finally_ connected, thumb brushing against your clit.

“Such a good girl, such a _tight_ girl,” He gasped, rolling his hips in shallow, little thrusts to test the proverbial waters. You keened, from both the praise and his thumb on your clit, and fuck, fuck _fuck,_ you were so _close_ to the edge, batting at his hand.

“Not- not yet,” You whimpered, eyes screwed shut, thighs trembling. “Please- I want- I want Mando, too-“

You earned a quiet, sharp inhale- not that you could hear it, though- and the Mandalorian’s hands were mobile on you again, pinching and tugging your nipples in uncharacteristic inconsideration. The chill on his helmet briefly startled you, and you realized he was resting his forehead on your shoulder, grinding his hips against your battered ass, his own hands just above Boba’s on your waist.

Gods, you wanted him _in_ you. You wanted him in you, with Boba, and gods you wanted to feel a fullness you were _sure_ you’d never feel again.

 _“You- you…_ what?” Both men sputtered, and _oh_ , did you say that out loud? Your face flushed to your ears, down your chest, in embarrassment, but you barely had time to _feel_ it, yelping as Boba gripped your asscheeks, spreading it to brush a thumb against your puckered hole, angling your hips to give the Mandalorian leverage while remaining seated inside you.

Perks of being _huge,_ you guessed.

“You heard the girl.” You could _feel_ his smirk, even with your face buried into his shoulder. “I’d grab something to slick her.”

Boba didn’t say it like a suggestion, and soon Mando was off with a huff, though he also knew there was no way they could do this _without._ Tender now that they were alone, Fett tickled your chin, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, as he slowly began to rock his hips, and _kriff_ , you’d never fully get used to this, used to the stretch of this man inside you, but it was so _delicious_ , the way he forced you open.

“Boba,” you gasped, leaning forward to kiss him. “Boba, _please, more_ -“

And of course, when you asked so nicely like that, he couldn’t help but oblige, hands running up your back as he rocked deeper into you, strokes shallow as he tried to stay connected with you, for as long as he could, as _deep_ as he could. His pelvic bone ground against your clit and _oh,_ you were so close again, and fuck it, you could come again later with _both_ of them like you wanted, but you were tumbling towards your release _now_ , and just as Mando rounded the corner, you were _screaming,_ coming on your bounty hunter’s dick, head lolling back in bliss.

“I was just getting her ready,” Fett smirked, petting you lovingly, pulling you closer again to expose your asshole to the Mandalorian. You, through the ringing in your ears, heard a soft click of Mando’s tongue, finally and utterly swept up in the wave of jealousy and competition.

That’s what happens, you supposed, when you put two of the best bounty hunters together in the same room.

Determined now to break you apart, Mando deftly worked the lube onto his fingers, and leaning forward to bump his helmet gently against your shoulder in a mock-kiss, he swiped a finger against the puckered hole, slicking it.

 _“You really want this, right?”_ He murmured, working a finger in and moaning at your velvet heat, so much tighter from the pressure of Fett’s cock still warming in you. You uttered a high _yes_ , the nerves around your ass completely lit up in a symphony of pleasure and pain, still sensitive from your previous orgasms and the spanking from earlier, body just screaming please, please _, please,_ as Mando inserted another finger into you.

You wanted to skip all this preparation, you just wanted him to be _in_ you, wanted to feel them both, but with every protest you swore the Mandalorian went _slower,_ prepping you careful, gently, and focused, dexterous fingers drawing frustrated moans from you.

Even Boba was still during the process, uncharacteristically un-snarky, watching with a steely gaze that you knew as concentration. As if he were watching to see if Mando would fuck up, would hurt you, because even though _he_ invited the other man in, even though _he_ spanked you within an inch of your life, he was still protective over your wellbeing. You huffed out a weak laugh at the thought, and both men stilled.

“Did that hurt?” Boba asked, simultaneous to Mando’s _are you okay?_

You whispered _no,_ then _yes,_ then _wait I don’t know,_ head spinning with pleasure as you felt so _full_ already. This was enough, you thought, this had to be enough, and you whimpered out a needy plea, _begging_ for them to get the show on the road.

And finally, kriffing finally, Mando obliged you, coating his thick cock liberally in slick, settling just behind you. _“Last chance. You can still say no.”_

You wanted to _smack_ him, and just as you opened your mouth to say something sarcastic, he was pushing _in,_ and _oh kriff,_ you hadn’t gotten a good look at his cock this whole time. It felt huge as he pushed his way in, past the ring of tight muscle made tighter by the pressure of Boba’s cock buried deep in your pussy, and you screamed, wrapping your arms around your bounty hunter’s neck, who had begun to pet your sides and shush you soothingly.

It burned, it burned as he slid all the way in, and gods you _really_ thought you were going to get your guts rearranged because of this, but it felt _so good_ , you felt so full and right, and you heaved a gasp once Mando was rooted deep in you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

 _“Good-“_ He gasped, voice strained even through the modulator, _“Good, good girl-“_

Even Boba was moaning now, a litany of praises spilling from his lips, gasping at the increase in pressure inside you, and of course, he tested first by thrusting up _once,_ then twice, eyes carefully on your face to any sign that you wanted _out._ But fuck, your head was drowning in pleasure, and you began to rock your hips back, forward, wherever you could _feel_ them (which was everywhere all at once), and of course, the men took that as a sign that they could _fuck you,_ now.

It didn’t matter just how overwhelming it all was- the overstimulation of your previous orgasms, of your spanking, or your every nerve being lit by a flame, then doused in gasoline- you _needed_ it. Both men were pounding into you now, and all you could hear was the obscene sounds of where you all met, of your moans, of _good girl_ s and other reverent praise. You were quickly rolling towards your orgasm, peaking high and you keened, back arching as you _finally_ came the way you wanted, pussy dripping cum as you clenched around the two bounty hunters.

They cursed, simultaneously, Mando’s rounded, soft voice ever the contrast against Boba’s sharp, gruff edge, and they came within you, spilling so deep you were convinced they’d ruin you.

Gods, you wondered if you’d ever come down from this. As you came to, you felt the warm swipe of a soft, wet towel along your backside, and the gentle spray of bacta to your abused ass. Two, warm bodies came pressed against you, and despite your spacey mind, you heard some grumbles of _not enough space,_ and _take your stupid helmet off_ , and a clank of metal, a hiss and laughter.

You whimpered, a pathetic excuse for laughter, and immediately two pairs of hands were on you, stroking you, petting you, warming you, dual voices of calm settling you down. Boba- you assumed- leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, whispering to you how _amazing_ you were, how _great_ you did, and soon, you were out, sandwiched between both Mando and Fett.

And you thought, just as your consciousness flickered out, that you should ruin more jetpacks.


End file.
